


World Eater

by blodwite



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-21
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-11-03 02:59:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10958238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blodwite/pseuds/blodwite
Summary: Two years after Aludin's attack on Helgen, the Dragonborn has finally defeated him. The travel weary hero returns from Sovngarde for some much needed rest. Much to her chagrin, the Divines have other ideas, and the World Eater returns again.





	1. Prologue: Sovngarde

The Firstborn of Akatosh thrashed where he lay in the dirt. The ethereal dirt of Sovngarde was no mere soil, but it was still dirt. A fact that rankled at the great dragon’s mind and so he struggled all the harder.

A dov was not meant to die in the dirt.

Even if the pain that assailed his limbs almost made him wish that he’d died back when Gormlaith Golden-hilt, Hakon One-eye, and Felldir the Old had unwittingly set him forward in time.

His body was dying. The accursed blue light that engulfed him with the words was slowly decaying his great lungs. A deep ache set in his bones, stiffened his muscles. How did the humans live at all if this is what they felt?

_Jor Zah Frul._

This Thu’um he’d felt before. Back at the Monahven, once both before and after his Elder Scroll inflicted exile. It had been Alduin’s first experience of horror, after countless eras of existing. The combined voices of the ancient heroes had brought him down weak, confused, and utterly horrified.

The Dragonborn had cast their voice at Alduin at the Monahven as well. Somehow that one voice was far stronger than three combined, and the reeling Alduin had fled once he could find wind under his wings again.

Now the dragon felt that his very bones might crumble. At the mercy at four worthy Thu’um he quaked. Thrashing out his wings in vain, though the mere movement caused agony.

A wing clipped Hakon One-eye and sent him stumbling back.

That hadn’t been Alduin’s intention, but it kept the blade from his suddenly susceptible scales. Even if the impact had caused his spelled body even more pain. He was sure that a bone had cracked in his wing from connecting with Hakon’s pauldrons.

_Mortal Finite Temporary._

The very concept was one that Alduin had not been able to understand. Never in all his years of existence had he ever felt fear of dying, or even understood the plights of the mortals. They had been in the dirt below him, insignificant.

That they had struggled in vain against him, knowing that they ran towards death, had confused him. The madness of their nature was one he easily accepted, even as Paarthurnax once had tried to convince him otherwise long ago. They weren’t fighting for dominance as a dov would, but for freedom.

Kyne had gifted mortals with speech and then she had gifted them Thu’um. Alduin had thought a traitor was doing the teaching, and he was right but they were driven by a god to do so. For the love of all her creations. There was no way that she was doing it without Akatosh’s blessing. 

Alduin was a fool. Truly though, the idea that he was in the wrong was not a new one to the great dragon. He’d done many things that he knew were wrong, shameful, deliberately.

Like ruling the world when it had come due to eat it so long ago.

The Dragonborn ran forward with a yell that shook the Hall of Valor. Sword raised high above hair that gleamed as gold. The three heroes at her side, along with the minor god Tsun. All rushing with intent to kill the god of destruction.

A sword found its way into the flesh under his wing, the scales there, softer anyway, were like mortal flesh while he was within the throes of their unnatural Thu’um. A second after, the action was repeated under his other wing and he couldn’t contain his roar.

Another, Hakon’s axe smashed down on his neck, forcing it to the ground. Quick as a fox the Dragonborn leapt on his head, sinking her blade deeply into the side of his throat, just below his large horns.

Alduin rasped, blood filling his throat as he struggled to breath through the liquid and the onslaught of pain. The weight of the Dragonborn was soon off of him, and the sword wrenched from his flesh with a sickening wet squelch.

Crimson eyes met her small, mortal gaze. How had he missed such fierceness? Those were the eyes of a dov.

He understood it now. As his scales slowly started to peel away like burnt paper to the wind he finally understood just what the humans felt. When they stared into his gaze, when they shook the blood from their blade after a battle, when they simply woke from sleep still breathing.

 **“Joor… Zah… Frul…”** Alduin choked the Thu’um out in between wet sounding gasps. Blood was on his tongue, spilling from his mouth even as it too slowly began to melt away into the air. The power of the shout was weak, harmless, but it rumbled nonetheless.

Her fierce eyes widened and he would have laughed but for the pain and the blood. An impossible shout for a dragon to even fathom.

Here at death, the dragon Alduin, Firstborn of Akatosh, god of destruction, World Eater, finally understood mortality.

**Do you really? Then let us see, my son.**


	2. High Hrothgar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our Dragonborn Lavinia returns to High Hrothgar to share the news of Alduin's defeat.  
> And to get some much need sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, this is obviously not in the same vein as the prologue, but we'll get to that eventually. All of my fanfic's are long winded and slow to get started, I doubt that this one will be any different, so prepare yourself. Somewhat shameful self indulgence that it is going to be though... ah well, I hate spoiling it in tags until it's already written, so those will be updated as this goes on.

A low groan escaped her lips when she felt the ground beneath her feet again. Cold, it was cold. The wind stung her cheeks and her shivers would have been noticed but for that she was already shaking.

Opening her eyes was a struggle. They felt like they had been sealed shut. Blinking repeatedly, her blurry vision slowly returned to her.

Snow, naturally was the first thing she had to see. Of course.

Then the great dragon before her.

She would have startled, hand to her sword, but she was too tired. Slowly she came to understand that it was Paarthurnax before her, and she let out a slow breath. That other dragons were around, sitting on the mountain and in the air, was no matter.

 **“So, it is done.”** The old dragon’s voice soothed her over with the heat from his breath. Just as it had the other times she had spoken to him. Heat sinking into her flesh, momentarily stopping the ice cold wind of Skyrim from getting to her bones.

Wordlessly she stared up at him, not failing to hear the sorrow that tinged his deep tones.

**“Alduin dilon. The Elder is no more, he who came before all others, and had always been.”**

She inclined her head to the dragon’s words. Those thoughts had occurred to her before. That she was killing a being that had seen the creation of Nirn itself. A creature that was the son of the chief of the gods. It was chilling, she almost expected to be struck down right where she stood.

The Aedra wrote the Elder Scrolls and she was protected by Prophesy. With a capital ‘P’. Or perhaps it was Akatosh’s own desires for his Firstborn to fall so. Not that she could claim any understanding for the mind of a god.

“I… I have no regrets…” Her voice was fragile, small compared to the rumbling dov before her. She was afraid the wind would steal her words away. “…but…” With a snap she shut her mouth. These were not words she knew how to voice. 

“Alduin certainly brought this upon himself… but I too feel sorrow.” She tried again and while the words weren’t quite the sentiment that she wanted to convey, they hit enough points that she would let them lay between them.

Warm air rushed over her again, and she gave a single violent shiver. It was cold, very cold. Her toes and fingers had lost feeling, despite her thick, fur lined gloves and boots. She wanted to sleep.

Paarthurnax grumbled, his voice had a quality akin to two mountain grinding together. **“Indeed. You are clever, you saw more clearly than I – certainly, more clearly than Alduin. You did what was necessary. His doom was written for him when he claimed for himself the lordship that properly belongs to Bormahu – our father Akatosh.” The old dragon lifted up his neck, breathing a long gust of hot air acorss her face, almost affectionately if she wasn’t mistaken. “Alduin had flown far from the path of right action in his pahlok- the arrogance of his power. But I cannot celebrate his fall. Zu’u tiiraaz ahst ok mah. He was my brother once. This world will never be the same.”**

A low hum rumbled in her throat, the most dragon like response she could give the old dov aside from a shout.

In lieu of an answer Paarthurnax leapt from the word wall, giant wings buffeting cold, cold air off of her body as he rose into the sky.

**“Goraan! I feel younger than I have in many an age. Many of the dovah are now scattered across Keizaal. Without Alduin’s lordship, they may yet bow to the vahzen… rightness of my Thu’um.”**

The old dragon shook himself mid-air, entire body shaking like a wet dog. Starting with his head and ending with his tail. The Dragonborn could stop the small laugh that escaped her lips at such a scene.

He turned to face her then and she sensed that if he had lips they’d be pulled back in a grin. **“But willing or no, they will hear it! Fare thee well, Dovahkiin!”** With a mighty roar, one of the oldest surviving dragons took off.

Circling overhead he let out a stream of fire. The other dragons muttered amongst themselves, words grumbled as soft as a dragon could in a tongue that she didn't truly understand for all her acclaimed kinship to the dovah.

Soon enough one took off, launching its powerful form up from the ledge it had perched on. Circling around, it let out a mighty roar that shook the ground beneath her feet, fire filling the air. One by one, all the dragons around her took off. The night sky above the Throat of the World filled with the callings of dragons and the bright heat of dragon fire.

From below on very earthbound, human feet the Dragonborn watched, face tilted toward the sky, mouth open in awe. This, she thought, this was a sight for just the Dragonborn. Doom driven hero, the one to see dragons mourn and triumph their freedom at once in the sky light by aurora borealis.

Massar and Secunda were high in the sky, the light illuminating and reflecting off the dragon’s scales and the snow beneath her.

The tears froze on her cheeks before she even realized she was weeping. Her eyes followed the dragons vanishing forms until she could see them no more.

The flapping of wings startles the Dragonborn from her thoughts and she whirls around as the red dragon lands in the snow before her.

**“Pruzah wundunne wah Wuth Gein. I with the Old One luck in his… quest. But I doubt many will wish to exchange Alduin’s lordship for the tyranny of Paarthunax’s ‘Way of the Voice.’ As for myself, you’ve proven your mastery twice over. Thuri, Dovahkiin. I gladly acknowledge the power of your Thu’um. Zu’u Odahviing. Call me when you have need, and I will come if I can.”**

With that, neither waiting for confirmation or acknowledgement from her, the dragon launched himself into the air with his powerful hind legs and took to the air. He circled around once, like the other had, but no roar or fire meet the air in his wake.

Her eyes trailed his form until she could no longer see it.

A long, low sigh escaped her lips. She’d envied the dragon’s their flight, deep within her dragonblood she yearned for that too. Now that their magnificent, terrible forms were gone she wished for so that she could get off this Divine’s forsaken mountain.

Skirting the Dragon Break, she had no desire to tempt fate by touching the time wound if she could help it, the weary Dragonborn began her descent down the mountain.

Trust that she would have to capture a youthful (relatively), arrogant dragon to fly away on his back only to have to fight her way through draugr, several dragons, and a fierce dragon priest. It couldn’t end there either, she had to enter the portal to Sovngarde (land of the bloody Nord dead, not her dead) and fight her way through a thick mist that served as a calming spell that lead to the devouring of one’s soul.

No, then she had to ‘prove her worth’ to the gate keeper she’d never heard of before, to make her way across a huge skeleton bridge to a… not that she was surprised, a mead hall. Of course, Nords in death wanted to drink, brawl, drink, eat, and then drink. Much as they did in life.

There she’d taken a quick reprieve to eat and rest her legs, introducing herself to the warriors that Shor was allowing to aid her quest to defeat Alduin. The same heroes of old who had cast him forward into her own time to deal with.

Naturally the four of them had run out, weapons drawn, hollering down the backbones of some senselessly large creature like drunken youths, ready to destroy the Eater of Worlds.

It had been exhilarating.

The blood pounding in her ears, the heat of her dead companions at her side, and the anticipation of the concluding battle on her tongue. She was going to save her world, everything that existed, everything that she’d ever known, from a monster that had been waiting since its creation.

Now it was over.

Adrenaline was gone, her sword was in its sheath, and she was trudging down a steep cliff-face in almost knee deep snow.

It was done.

The dragon was gone. The goal that she’d had the past two long years was fulfilled, the goal that had been forced upon her rather abruptly shortly after her botched entry into Skyrim.

She should be happy, she realized that. Should be gushing with triumph and energy, eager to get down to High Hrothgar and drink deep and long to victory. If the Greybeards even had alcohol. No matter, Ivarstead then.

No, instead she was tired. Not just physically. She was weary in a soul deep level that was rare for one of her age. The melting snow that had snuck into her boots did not help the situation much.

Celebration would break out soon enough, and she would partake of the festivities whether she willed it or not. The Dragon Crisis was over, they just had to hunt down what was left, and that was something to drink to for sure.

Then the civil war would start up again soon enough, and Skryim would continue to vie for her favor and attention.

The Dragonborn, she realized with a scowl as she scrambled onto a rocky out cropping so as to not have to walk in such deep snow, simply wanted to sleep.

________________________________________________________________________________________


The moment she past the stone pillars marking the beginning of the path up to the Throat of the World from the courtyard, Lydia was upon her.

The taller –and stronger- woman grabbed her thane and pulled her into a bone crushing huge. Uncomfortable as it would have been otherwise, the experience was exasperated by the heavy armor that both women wore.

“Lavinia, thank Kyne, you’re safe!”

Futilely the smaller woman struggled briefly in Lydia’s grasp. “I won’t be for long if you keep crushing me like this!”

Her words weren’t the reason she was released, but Lydia let her go nonetheless. Her hands were still wrapped around the Dragonborn’s armored forearms, holding her at arm’s length.

The prolonged eye contact made Lavinia squirm, but she kept it nonetheless. She’d met gazes with dragons and had fiercely stared them down. She wasn’t about to let embarrassment at her housecarl’s concern dishonor her friend’s… whatever she was doing. Lydia needed this moment, and Lavinia would give it to her.

Satisfied, apparently, Lydia stepped back. She released her hold, but only partially. Gloved hands clasped onto each other tightly. The Dragonborn’s grip as sure as the Nord’s. Then she was led through the courtyard and into the blessed, blessed warmth of High Hrothgar.

Not that it was warm, really. Compared to the outside it was a marked relief and Lavinia sagged against the door behind her once it had been shut.

“Are you alright?” Lydia asked, hovering over the Dragonborn, eyeing her body with narrowed eyes for injuries that she might have missed before. Not seeing any now did not lessen her concern. There were ways to injure without giving physical injuries.

Gaining her feet back with visible effort, Lavinia pushed off of the door swaying only a little once she was free of support.

“I’m fine Lydia… just tired. Let’s just go give the Greybeards the news and then I can sleep for a month.”

Once again, Lydia followed me without question. Though her jaw was set in a stubborn way that told me once Lavinia that once she done invoking her duty as Dragonborn Lydia’d be on her like a mother hen. Only instead of feathers she was decked in steel and was usually about as gentle.

High Hrothgar wasn’t a quiet building. It was large, empty, and comprised of mostly stone. Secrets wasn’t something it enjoyed and was eager to give them up the moment they passed one’s lips.

Thus from our echoed voices the four of them knew of the arrival and all were seated at the negotiating table that had served to put a temporary end to the civil war. Most days, they just eat dinner at it though.

Arngeir stood as the Dragonborn stepped down the short flight of stairs, Lydia in tow as her ever present, not so quiet shadow.

“I can see it in your eyes. You’ve seen the land of the Gods and returned. Does this mean… it is done? Is Alduin truly defeated?”

His question was hesitant, structure with unknown years’ worth of control. Yet also, wearied and hopeful. Despite his peaceful protests he didn’t want Alduin to be the end of he knew, either it seemed. She’d known this of course, no one wanted that. Not even Alduin had it seemed…

“Yes. I went to Sovngarde and killed Alduin there.” I stated, moving forward to take a seat at the table.

“At last. It is over. Perhaps it was all worth it in the end. You’ve shown yourself mighty, both in Voice and deed. In order to defeat Alduin, you’ve gained mastery of dreadful weapons. Now it is up to you to decide what to do with your power and skill. Will you be a hero whose name is remembered in song throughout the ages? Or will your name be a curse to future generations? Or will you merely fade from history, unremembered? Let the Way of the Voice be your guide, and the path of wisdom will be clear to you. Breath and focus, Dragonborn. Your future lies before you.”

Lavinia sighed deeply. She had halted when Arngeir had started his speech, but now she just walked past him with her head bent toward the floor. Lydia, however didn’t slink past him, she stomped along behind, armor clanking and creaking in indignation.

Taking an empty seat, not Arngeir’s of course, she flopped down onto the cold, hard stone and a breath escaped her lips again. Sitting felt too good. She was too tired for this, if she didn’t hurry she’d fall asleep right at the table.

“A pretty speech, Arngeir, but I just want to go home and sleep. For a long time.” Lavinia’s very voice was drawn and slow, displaying her sluggishness. “It is over though. Finally. I, the Last Dragonborn, have slain Alduin the World Eater. As much good as it’s going to do the world…” The last part was softer, spoken halfway under her breath. Thoughts of the civil war, the Aldmeri Dominion’s ambitions, and the growing audacity of the vampires on her sleep addled mind. Not to mention the remaining dragons that would most likely be back to burning Skyrim soon enough.

She knew that they heard. Lydia held her tongue because she knew that Lavinia would share her concerns with her, she always did. The other three Greybeards couldn’t voice their thoughts without tearing Lydia apart and probably damaging the building.

Though to house the Greybeards for this long... it would probably fare decently enough, actually.

Arngeir merely inclined his head. “You have much to think about, Dragonborn.”

For what had to be the hundredth time that day Lavinia sighed again. She would, in depth, for a long time. It could wait though, until she’d gotten home at least. For now, she had a more pressing manner to take care of.

“I… I didn’t devour his soul though. I doubt that I could, really, him being what and who he is. It worries me though. Arngeir, do you think that he’s… that Alduin’s really dead?” Today she was stuttering so much, hesitant to voice her thoughts either from lack of expression or fear of shame. So much for the famed diplomacy of the Imperials, she thought with weak smile.

Said Greybeard took this as his turn to sigh, stepping forward and taking his seat next to her. Lydia finally sat down then, in the seat on the other side of the Dragonborn.

He tugged at his beard, in what must have been a nervous habit before the learned control of the Way of the Voice. Lavinia had never seen him do it until now. It took him a long moment before he parted his lips to speak.

“Perhaps, perhaps not.”

Damn the fickle nature of the Way of the Voice.

“Dragons are not like normal mortal creatures, and Alduin is unique even among dragonkind. He may be permitted to return at the end of time to fulfill his destiny as the World-Eater. But that is for the Gods to decide. You’ve done your part.”

The last words out of his mouth had brought the most relief in the last week to Lavinia, aside relief she felt from her constant surprise that she was still alive.

“Yes… I’ve done my part…” She whispered, trying to convince herself that destiny would loose its holds on the Last Dragonborn as easily as that. He knew that what she was could have no easy escape. She was young still, there was so much that the Divines and fate could connive to set her to.

For now, though, Lavinia allowed herself to take deep comfort from the thought. She was done, at least for awhile, she was done. If there was any justice, it wouldn’t be another two years before whatever higher being deigned to start pulling on her strings again.

A wide yawn split her face, and she rubbed at her eyes. Focusing on the Speaker for the Greybeards with bleary eyes Lavinia asked if she and Lydia could stay for a day or so longer in High Hrothgar.

“Of course, Dragonborn. You’re always welcomed in this hall.”

Lavinia could sense the ‘but…’ there, unspoken on the end of his sentence, but they both knew that she would never kill Paarthurnax. She didn’t have it in her, even if she could see the point the blade’s had if she squinted enough.

Gaining her feet, the exhausted Dragonborn thanked the Greybeards for their hospitality before dragging Lydia along with her to find a spare bed.


End file.
